


Winter-Blooming Roses

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drawing, F/F, Flowers, Future Fic, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 12:05:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16197191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: Sansa sketches Margaery in Highgarden's rose garden.





	Winter-Blooming Roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilu_indefinido](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilu_indefinido/gifts).



"Margaery, hold still."

Margaery flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Do you really not remember what I look like?"

Sansa smiled at her over her drawing pad. "It's not that. It's the light. You are changing the way it falls."

Drawing was a new pursuit Sansa had adopted at Highgarden. Margaery could not fault her for her new endeavor (she was thrilled to see her enthusiastic about something), and she always enjoyed seeing what Sansa produced. What she did not like was sitting perfectly still, even if her posing sessions gave her an excuse to watch Sansa. 

"All right." Margaery did not bother to hide her smile as Sansa cast her attention back to her paper. Despite Sansa's mock sternness, she was smiling, which made Margaery smile too. Sansa was so beautiful when she smiled—or put her mind to something in concentration. 

Sansa had drawn her several times already, but they went through this routine each time. It seemed to amuse both of them. Even now she could tell Sansa was trying not to smile, which made her heart beat faster and her own smile grow. She was always nervous about pushing her flirting, for that was what it was, too far and alarming Sansa. That had yet to happen, though Margaery knew not to take too much hope from that. 

It was a relief after that long period of time in which Sansa had not smiled. They'd inevitably earned the wrath of the Lannisters by leaving King's Landing, but they had gained an alliance with the North out of it. After nearly three years of winter, spring was at last beginning to make its presence felt in the south, and Margaery hoped this meant the beginning of long, peaceful days with Sansa.

"You're still moving," Sansa said, not looking up from her work. 

"I cannot be a statue."

Sansa smiled, fondly this time. "It is not as though it is the first time. You must be used to this by now."

"I know." She paused, studying Sansa's steady gaze. "Perhaps I simply delight in teasing you."

"I can't imagine why." Sansa turned her pad. "Here. This is what I have so far."

Margaery relaxed, though she hadn't been sitting still very well. "Let me see."

"It isn't finished." Sansa's lips twitched as though she were hesitating, before passing the pad to Margaery for closer inspection. 

The figure in charcoal was undoubtedly Margaery, who had had her portrait painted numerous times, but it was different than any image she'd ever seen of herself, in a way she could not quite identify. It was different than even Sansa had ever drawn her before. 

"It is a good likeness," she said, not wanting to let on how taken she was with it.

"Thank you," Sansa said. "I think I'm improving."

Margaery's gaze roved over the image again. It showed a confidence there that she didn't feel, her eyes fixed on some point not depicted, sitting casually on a bench as though she were not conscious of being watched. There was no hint of the stiff position Margaery had been sitting in or the boredom she had felt holding it. 

"If you do not like it…" Sansa reached for the pad.

"No." Impulsively, Margaery reached for her wrist. "I like it."

"It isn't finished," Sansa repeated, her cheeks going exquisitely pink. "I need…" She stopped. "No, it's silly."

"I'm sure it isn't." Margaery shifted her hands so she was holding Sansa's properly. It was soft and warm in hers, and she savored the sensation for as long as she dared before letting go.

It might have been Margaery's imagination that Sansa glanced down to the space where their hands had just been joined, but she had raised her eyes to meet Margaery's a moment later. There was a new spark of confidence there. "We need to go into the maze. I want you against the greenery, with a rose in your hand."

Margaery's mask of reluctance was back in place. "Must we?"

"We must." Sansa's eyes told her she would not be swayed from her object. She led the way confidently through the maze, as though she'd done it a thousand times before, which she had. Margaery noticed her gaze sweeping the hedge walls, searching for the perfect spot, though Margaery knew what place she had in mind.

The center of the maze was carefully cultivated so that roses sprang from the walls. Margaery remembered how enchanted Sansa had been the first time she'd brought her to see it. There had been a look on her face that Margaery had endeavored time and time again to elicit as she'd shown her about Highgarden not long after their arrival. Showing her friend her home had dulled the anxiety she'd felt about Sansa marrying Willa, though she would have gladly paid any price for Sansa's safety.

Years had passed, though, and no marriage contract had been prepared. Margaery was half afraid to remind anyone what the original purpose of bringing Sansa to Highgarden had been, allowing her to revel fully in her own foolish hopes.

She stopped before the wall of roses. "Here?" She tilted one of the blooms to her face, adjusting it based on Sansa's directions. Sansa had settled herself on the bench and was now bent over her drawing pad, giving Margaery a chance to watch her at work.

Sansa's brows were drawn in concentration and strands of hair had escaped her braid to frame her face. Margaery again felt the gnawing in her chest that she frequently had when she looked at Sansa. The more time Margaery spent with her, the more afraid she was to lose her one day.

"Something is troubling you," Sansa said, without looking up. "Your shoulders have gone tense."

Margaery tried to relax. "It is nothing." She tossed her hair. "I am only intimidated to pose before a great artist."

Sansa smiled knowingly, but said nothing more. Margaery relaxed and went back to watching her. 

"There," Sansa said at last, setting her charcoal aside. "Would you like to see?"

"It is why I have been posing here."

Sansa shook her head ruefully. "Here."

She handed over the pad and turned away quickly, as though afraid of seeing Margaery's reaction. 

The finished product made Margaery look more mysterious and alluring than she felt. It could have been an image of the Maiden, in the Father's blooming garden. The charcoal figure tilted the rose growing from the hedge casually, as though it grew there only for her. Margaery couldn't remember holding the flower quite that way. Her expression looked much altered as she seemed to gaze out of the paper as though inconvenienced by the interruption of the viewer.

Sansa turned quickly to her. "What do you think?"

"Sansa, it is wonderful. I cannot even believe this is me."

Sansa's hands fisted in her skirts uncertainly. "It is how I see you." 

Margaery was thrown by this sudden remark. The pool of pleasant warmth had returned to her middle, but it was mixed with dread and doubt. She had never dared to hope that Sansa might see her as anything other than a friend, might see her in the same way Margaery saw _her_. 

But with this evidence in hand, the possibility that Sansa might have some regard for her was significantly heightened. 

Margaery lowered the pad in her hands. "You see me as much more beautiful than I am."

"No," Sansa said firmly. She took a determined step forward. "You _are_ beautiful. You are exactly as beautiful as this." Her voice had a certain tremble to it, as though she were forcing herself to do something quite nerve-wracking. Margaery could well understand it. 

She gave a short intake of breath. She could see this as the dance it was, neither wanting to say too much in case she was rebuffed. Seeing that Sansa was on this path filled her with an intense rush of relief. She had to reassure her that her feelings were returned. 

"Sansa," she said firmly, reaching out her hand. "It is a wonderful likeness, and I will treasure it always."

Sansa took a deep breath. "You are welcome to it." Her face was flushed, her blue eyes dancing. "Consider it a token of my esteem."

"I shall do so." Margaery stepped over to the bench and laid the pad down, which also brought her nearer to Sansa. She could not turn back now, spurred as she was by the confidence that Sansa wanted this just as she did.

She reached out slowly and touched her cheek, moving her hand down her neck. Sansa closed her eyes, as though in blissful relief. 

Margaery had wanted to savor this moment, but she found she couldn't. She brushed Sansa's hair back and pressed her lips to hers. Sansa's mouth was soft as she'd always imagined, and there was a moment of hesitation before she yielded to Margaery's kiss.

She might have thought she was dreaming, except that she had never even allowed herself to dream of this moment. Kissing Sansa in this most-secluded corner of the gardens was past even her wildest dreams. 

Sansa's inexperience and nervousness showed in her kiss, but her enthusiasm more than made up for it. Her hand came up hesitantly to rest on Margaery's cheek, urging her not to pull back and reminding her that she could take her time and savor it now that she knew for sure.

Before long, their lips parted, but Margaery pressed her forehead to Sansa's, enjoying the sight of her flushed cheeks.

"Have I sufficiently thanked you for the drawing?"

Sansa smiled mischievously, eyes dancing, and drew Margaery into another kiss.


End file.
